


Running

by DozingNeko



Series: Johnlock "Daily" Prompts [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom!Sherlock, M/M, dom/sub elements, top!John, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 02:22:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14345922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DozingNeko/pseuds/DozingNeko
Summary: He made Sherlock's heart gallop like a mustang.





	Running

Sherlock found running easy. 

Much easier at times like these. 

Evening wind slapping his face, running through his hair, cooling his overworked body. 

John, close behind him, kept in proximity by tightly linked fingers, calling out to him about the police ambush up ahead. 

A clinically insane suspect chasing them with a screw-riddled rugby bat in one hand. 

Cardio was great fun. 

The city was still alive and bustling with noise - mostly indignant shouts when Sherlock shoved them aside, followed by screams at the sight of a very dangerous man wielding his makeshift weapon. 

_ “Move!” _ Sherlock roared, a little flame of satisfaction flourishing into a smug cooking fire at the vacation of the sidewalk. He could make out the squad car a few blocks ahead, as well as Lestrade loitering beside a bin with some sort of half eaten pastry. 

Their fingers were sweaty, which accounted for half of the moisture - the rest was a thick fog that had hidden their perp quite well until they were nearly unattractively decapitated like a pair of dunces. 

John gained a bit, hollering out,  _ “Lestrade! Lestraaaade!” _ until the inspector caught sight of them because he was an unobservant  _ idiot _ .  _ “Taser! Get the goddamned taser!” _

Behind them, the suspect released a deranged screech.

The young man fell to the ground once they passed the silver inspector, emitting a series of throaty gurgling as he writhed, a pair of electric pins stuck in his chest. 

“You're holding hands.” Lestrade said, needlessly. 

John's fingers tightened around Sherlock's. “Yes, we are.” Answered the doctor, frowning. 

“John doesn't like to run.” Explained Sherlock. “He has ‘little legs’ and he's not ‘made for running,’ in his opinion.”

“You did well enough.” Supplied Lestrade. 

“Cheers. Can I go home and have a bath now?”

“Of course,” Sherlock pulled him towards the curb, raising his hand for a cab while Lestrade seized the trembling man while he groaned and drooled. 

John sighed and melted into his seat, rubbing his face. “Last time I let you drag me out on a suspected psychiatric murder.”

“Doubtful.” Sherlock muttered, relaxing to his thinking pose. 

_ “I'm _ bringing the gun next time.”

“Would hardly have been of any use.”

John gaped. “You what?  _ He was chasing us with a weapon- _ ”

“A bat.”

_ “With screws in!” _

Sherlock shrugged. “Semantics.” Raising John's ire was a particular favourite. Before, he would simply grind his teeth and angrily clench his teeth. That agitated smile curled his thin lips, blue eyes glinting a mix of amusement and rage. Oh, yes, this situation read sex. 

After having discovered it, Sherlock decided sex was quite enjoyable, and he would happily participate in as much as he could get away with. John was adamant, however, he not whore about and settle with just his doctor. Agreeable enough, he supposed. John had enough surprises beneath his jumper to be a thoroughly interesting partner. Most nights, he was a cuddly, lovey, teasing prick, all smiles as kind words as he pushed into Sherlock's body, wrecking him effortlessly. 

Other times, he was commanding, insistent that he was working for Sherlock's own good, bending him awkwardly on the mattress, cheek flattened and hands bound behind his back as John slowly sank in, refusing to stop until his bollocks were flush with Sherlock's arse. 

This was unlikely to be like either of those. The glare was too dark, his face too fierce, his body too tight. Certainly, John's intention was to hold him down and take what he wanted.  _ Hardly taking it if it's surrender. _ Surrender, however was boring. Sherlock had tried it several times, falling limp to John's will obediently, only to buck and snarl when he became complacent. Fighting was much more fun. 

Sherlock's heart jumped with excitement and glee. John was going to ride him like a stallion, and he had never been so excited for such a thing. 

Once upon a time, the thought of being touched in an intimate manner made him feel in need of a shower. Enter John “Exception" Watson, who made him feel like a precious treasure even as he was held down and fucked to the feathered edge of sanity. 

A tense cab ride agitated his nerves, every breath and disbelieving scoff traveling to his unrepentant erection. He didn't feel bad for it, either. John's anger made him rock solid and anxious and he  _ enjoyed _ it. He could see a trickle of twisted amusement in John as well. 

John materialised his mobile, typed something in, and handed it to Sherlock, who accepted with a tilt of his head. 

_ Stupid.  _

_ That's how fucked you'll be by morning. _

Sherlock smirked, gazing out into the twilight. His scarf bundled beneath his nose as he tucked in to reply, getting out of the cab and tossing John's phone back to him. 

_ Then I suppose the game is on. _

Mrs. Hudson, having had expected their return, left the front door unlocked, allowing Sherlock to make his strategic escape, listening to John make the payment and sprint after him, colliding hard with the door and cursing loudly. 

Sherlock flipped the lock with an evil grin and spun away, sprinting up the stairs and looking for a hiding place. The most effective would be behind the curtain, however it would be painfully easy to find him there. Under his pile of laundry in the closet. 

He sprinted into his bedroom, closed in the dark closet by the time John thundered in. To spite the lingering panic, Sherlock was grinning, thrilled, absolutely over the sodding moon. Being chased was his second favorite feeling, after being a predator. Being chased by a randy  _ John _ , however blew both of those things it of the water. 

Sherlock managed to scramble halfway under his intended hiding place before he was dragged back out in a trail of used shirts and trousers. His fingernails scrabbled for purchase on the wooden floor, however John didn't relent, dragging him those few precious inches until they were touching; Sherlock's bottom flush to John's groin. 

“You're fucking insane if you think I'll let you run and hide after pulling a stunt like that.” He growled in his domineering timbre. His touch was anything but the usual caress, instead fingertips dug cruelly into Sherlock's thighs. 

Giving John a wanton groan, leaning back to feel the fullness of his prick nestled into the crack of his arse, Sherlock smiled. “A scene?” He blinked lazily. “I'm not sure what you mean.”

John growled, somewhere between amused and disbelieving. “Give me that pack of lube.” He commanded, riding up the detective's coat, and pulling down both his trousers and pants. 

“Lube?” Sherlock chimed, turning his head. 

With that terrifying, tight smile, John dragged him closer. “I know you carry several blister packs of lube on your person at a time, inside coat pocket, right side so it's more accessible.” He leaned down to speak directly into Sherlock's ear. “Because if you don't hand it over, I'm fucking you raw.”

Selfish John was quite frightening. Sherlock's cock throbbed in the face of its new adversary, chilly fingers digging through his belongings before handing over the requested slick. 

“That a boy.” John patted his bum gently, then gave a briefly stinging slap, ripping the packlet open carefully. Eager as he was, he was in no mood for a mouthful of lube. “More where that came from if you try to mislead me again.” John warned, slathering his two fingers and burying them to the hilt in Sherlock's welcoming hole, which swallowed them with nearly alarming ease. 

His body ached, his spine nearly cracking with the force of it. “Sounds promising,” he panted, body releasing a pent up shiver, muscles clamping down on the digits within him. 

Next was a pinch to the back of his thigh, sharp and sudden. “You think I'll let you enjoy it? No, no, no. Punishments aren't supposed to be enjoyed.”

Sherlock opened his mouth in a silent cry, without breath. His inhale was loud in an otherwise silent room, the only sound being the soft squelching of fingers fucking him back and forth, the steady rhythm absolutely maddening. “I enjoy everything you do.” He smiled weakly, raising his backside in invitation. “I trust you implicitly.”

John planted a hand at the back of the younger man's neck, forcing his face into the floor. “Safe word.” He commanded, his cock throbbing with an almost overwhelming want. It would be so painfully easy to unzip his trousers and plow into him, feed his cock into the slick tunnel which clenched and opened in preparation for him. 

“Green. Good god, John, green.” Sherlock hissed. They (John) had been very persistent about using a safe word. Upon discovering the colour system, John was adamant. If either of them asked for a safe word, the other had to respond with either green, for go, yellow, for slow down, or red, for stop. Thus far, only John had asked for any. John was brave enough to shout  _ “stop,” _ if things went too far for his liking. Sherlock had no such implications. Under the guise of making John happy, he would do just about anything. 

John smiled, inserting a third finger and spreading his fingers like a speculum. “I'm telling you now,” he lowered his voice, that menacing tone that made Sherlock shudder before, “this is for me. I'm fucking you for my own pleasure. For the shite you dragged me through.”

“You very well begged to come,”

“Because you _ lied.” _ John nearly spat, pressing down on his detective's ignored prostate. His jaw hung open in a slightly demented silent scream. “You told me the suspect was in an opium den.”

Sherlock moved his hips in tiny circles, breathing harshly. “April Fools.”

_ “It's the sixteenth!” _ John snapped, mercilessly rubbing the gland until Sherlock was properly mute, sobbing and grinding. 

The lean length of Sherlock's body bunched and sprung as he rocked on John's hand, using one hand to fondle his length. “S-semant-"

John slapped his arse hard, putting his upper body into the swing, nearly unseating himself at the force Sherlock flung away. “Say it.” He snarled. “Tell me it's semantics. Do it again.”

“S’not.” Sherlock sniffed, sucking saliva through his teeth. “I'm sorry.”

A grin split John's face, eyes glinting as he sank his fingers in and pulled them out, the soft flesh relenting perfectly around him as he played with Sherlock's rim, watching it stretch and relax, a sharp pink against the light brown of John's to-fade tan. “Good. I'd hope so.” He gently dragged his fingers out of Sherlock, watching his flesh slowly draw back into a slightly swollen pucker. 

“John.” Sherlock grunted, openly leaking spit onto the floor. “Please.”

His words made John's cock pulse and dribble. Fire running in his blood, John unbuttoned his jeans and fumbled for his cock, slicking himself with what lingered on his hand. “Give me another lube.  _ Now. _ ”

Sherlock slapped it into John's waiting palm, bending his spine and spreading his knees. “Fuck me. Teach me a lesson for being so poor to you-”

“Don't tell me what to do.” John said sharply, shoving him down hard and covering his prick in unguent. “I'm not doing this for you, naughty cockwhore,” he paused, sighing his relief when Sherlock moaned and squirmed, “this is for _ me _ . You, on your hands and knees on your bedroom floor, begging to come on my cock is how this is going to go. Do you understand?”

Sherlock nodded, moving his hips in tiny circles. “Yes, John. I don't deserve it, John.”

He made a soft mewling noise when the crown of John's dick touched his sensitive rim. “No, but I do.” John declared proudly, tracing Sherlock's crack with his slit, painting a glaze of precum over the dark pink of his precious skin. 

Sherlock nodded again. “Yes, John. The world and more.”

John drove in sharp, not giving Sherlock so much as a moment to adjust before he was rapidly pounding in and out of him, holding one hip to keep himself grounded, while the other kept Sherlock prone underneath his snapping hips. 

After several thrusts, Sherlock was driven mad, grappling for a hold, his feet beginning to go haywire, shoes screeching against the floor. 

“Don't you fight me,” John growled, taking the collar of Sherlock's coat and slamming him down on the floor. “Do not struggle.”

Sherlock groaned, clawing at John's forearm just behind his head, ignoring his hiss of pain and simply taking his nails over his flesh. “Let me up-!”

“Stay still-!” John wrapped his hand around Sherlock's long prick, snapping his hips into the slick cavern. “I'm going to fuck you to oblivion. Lie there and take it.”

Relenting to John was very easy. No matter how hurried his body was to flail and thrash, it could very easily be drained out with enough of John's attention. His body became pliant without his conscious command, his eyes lolling backwards and his torso going limp. 

John fucked him in a rush, nearly a dizzying pace, guiding Sherlock forward and back on his prick, smiling lazily at the sight of a submissive Sherlock. “Good boy.”

“Naughty.” Sherlock corrected. 

The doctor snickered, leaning down to nuzzle aimlessly at Sherlock's warm body. “Very. Naughty boy, getting a pounding for being so-”

Sherlock groaned and John shuddered, spilling his load with a prolonged shout. 

They collapsed, Sherlock yelping at the rather incredibly uncomfortable sensation of an adult male bearing down on his distended abdomen with all of his weight. A sharp joly had them rolled onto their sides, his prick still red and leaking, cum spilling out of him in creamy white tides.

“Good?” Sherlock muttered, bringing a hand to his cock and beginning to pump frantically, leaning into the centre of John’s chest, basking in his familiarity, humming happily when two arms wrapped around him.

“Very good.”


End file.
